It wasn’t entirely clear to Jamie who was enjoying the FAO Schwarz experience more–me or Parker Lee. Maybe it was the way I bum-rushed the vat of sour patch kids on the first floor candy store. Or perhaps it was the ear-to-ear grin that I couldn’t wipe from my face as I admired the doll house display and quizzed the elderly craftsmen about dollhouse architecture (full disclosure: I’m a Victorian dollhouse kind of gal). I told him that we wouldn’t be purchasing one for Parker because my treasured miniature was back down South and I’d soon be giving it to her. But I was in for a furniture upgrade! And where exactly was the doll furniture constructed? Hmmm… Maybe it was worth to right then and there buy a new bedroom suite and invest in a doll sushi set. And…
Jamie shook his head and made his way to the stuffed animal display with Parker because, well, it was her day… right?
You hear it, you read it, but you don’t really believe it until it happens to you–one of the best things about being a parent is that you’re allowed to regress (meanwhile still being a disciplinarian and paying the rent), get a little silly and be a kid again. Your Saturday afternoon best friend is your baby–not bottles of prosecco and brunch in the Meatpacking with your girlfriends.
Would I ever plan a Saturday aftenoon FAO Schwarz, Serafina pizza outing if it weren’t for my 23 month-old, partner-in-crime who just so happens to sport half my DNA? Of course not. And I’d be missing out.
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